


Monsters Lurk in Your Shadows, Now. (But so do We, Dear, so do We.)

by NoHolds



Series: Shadows in the River Fog [3]
Category: Dishonored (Video Game)
Genre: Child Abuse, Family, Father-Daughter Relationship, Gaslighting, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Low Chaos, PTSD, Recovery, Warning:, she's okay at the end I swear, sorry emily, the timelines get a bit wonky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-16
Updated: 2015-10-07
Packaged: 2018-04-21 00:46:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 9,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4808516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoHolds/pseuds/NoHolds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emily Kaldwin had a charmed childhood for the first ten years of her life, and a very awful childhood for the year directly after.</p><p>She's seen too much, now, to pretend that every person is a good one, and watches carefully to see if Corvo is the man she thought he was, or if those memories are just another piece of her childhood to be left for the rats.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Golden Years and Darker Things

When you see Corvo again after a long journey, you fling yourself into his arms, sure that he will catch you.

He always does. He catches you and wraps you in his arms, smelling of tar and sea salt, and he tells you how _big_ you've gotten, and you make a face at him, and he kisses the top of your head.

Sometimes he brings you back presents; saltwater taffy, seashells, beachglass, treasures he's picked up on his travels. And sometimes he is too tired to talk much, shadows in his eyes and hair stiff with saltwater, but he _always_ catches you.

* * *

He is tired, that day. Something guilty in his eyes, ragged stubble at his jaw, but he catches you as he steps off the boat, makes time for a laugh and a game of hide and seek.

Yes, he always catches you-

He always does, until he doesn't. Until your childhood shatters on the river rocks, your mother dead and Corvo reaching for you with tears in his eyes and a scream that never makes it out of his throat.

Then you are whisked away by men with rough hands and whaler's masks, locked in a room that smells of sweat and too-strong perfume, and it doesn't sink in for a long time.

(You find out much later that this place is called the Golden Cat, and you look at the grimy windows and the slimy patrons and think, _Golden?_ )

* * *

The reality of your situation hits you only days into your captivity. You are trapped in a dark room with dirty windows, a place that reeks of sewage and rosewater, dust on the faux-fancy furniture- you are trapped here with people who don't care about you, and your mother is dead, and you'll probably never see Corvo again.

It feels a little like lemon juice in a cut and a lot like being lost at sea, and you choke back panic and your stomach churns, and you do your best not to cry, but you are  _drowning,_ and so one has to expect a little salty water.

* * *

You cry, a lot, then, for the first few weeks, after it sinks in but before you start trying to escape.

Your roommate/babysitter/warden is a woman who wears nightgowns during the day, her face painted heavy and pale with makeup. She pats you on the back when you cry, but always with a grimace, and she is not your mother, and it does not help.

* * *

But you can only cry so long, before you have to tuck the crying parts of yourself away and try to be brave, so you swallow the sour feeling in the back of your throat and do your best to be strong.

You keep your posture straight and your chin lifted and talk back to those awful Pendleton twins, try to take courage in that little rebellion. Only, it is easier, when the people you are talking back to are the ones who rasied you, and the worst they will do is give you a time-out. The Pendletons hit you when you talk back, and their eyes are not kind, and they do not laugh with you about it later.

The twins do not even tell you their first names, but you think you wouldn't want to know, anyway, because they have mad-dog eyes and thick, angry hands, and they hit you too easliy, and never even look sorry, just pass each other tooth-gritted frowns, like the face your mother used to make at paperwork.

It makes you want to cry, more, but you always wait until they leave the room.

* * *

For the first few months, you think- hope, at least- that Corvo is coming to get you.

You picture him, hair tied back, smelling faintly of aftershave, wearing that long coat of his, like he used to at feasts with your mother.

You dream about him shattering the single grimy window in your room and sweeping you away from this place.

It always makes you feel homesick, but it helps to stave off the darkness of this place, the hopelessness that threatens to choke you when you breathe, so you do not stop hoping for a long while.

* * *

But the way they talk about Corvo makes him sound like a monster, a murderer, and on the radio the golden-voiced hosts mourn how the Empress's own bodyguard killed her in cold blood, and when you say that's not how it happened they hit you again.

They call you a stupid little girl.

“She doesn't even know what happened and she was there,” one of the twins sneers, and the other one says, “The Whalers were none to gentle bringing her in- maybe they hit her head on something.”

Their laughter rubs away at you, like gravel on a skinned knee.

* * *

It gets tangled in your head, after a while, if Corvo is the monster they say.

* * *

Weeks later, you find that you've stopped hoping he'll come rescue you.

* * *

As the days roll into months, it becomes clear that no one is coming to get you.

So you start trying to escape on your own.

It is _almost_ like hide-and-seek, except no one lets you win anymore, and when they find you there is no gentle smile or warm laugh.

(You remember Corvo's laugh, but the things they say about him have turned his smile into a monster's smile, all venom and needle teeth and flat, hungry eyes).

* * *

The third time you try to escape, they bar the door to your room and skip a few of your meals to 'teach you a lesson'.

The painted woman smiles sadly and shakes her head at you.

“I guess this sort of ill-behavior just runs in the family. Your Daddy Corvo must'a put bad blood in your veins.” She pats you on the shoulder consolingly, but it makes your skin crawl.

You feel guilty, then, even though you're pretty sure you didn't do anything wrong, and you think Corvo's not really your dad, or he isn't supposed to be, but it's gotten all tangled up in your head, now, and thinking about it makes your stomach hurt.

* * *

The door flies open, one day, and there is a monster standing in the hallway.

It steps towards you without a sound, and you want to scream when it crouches to look you in the eyes, but instead you ball your fists and lock your knees to stop them from shaking, and you don't look away no matter how much you want to.

Its mask is horrible, a wirework skeleton's grin and dead, glassy eyes, but you do not cower.

But when the mask comes off it's Corvo underneath, and you had given up on him so _long_ ago, and when he holds his hand out to you you, you burst into tears.

You are not quite sure why.


	2. As things change, so they remain the same.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There we are! Chapter two! Sort a short, transitional chapter, this one, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless.

On the boat back to the Hound Pits Pub, you get a good look at Corvo, and he is not like you remember.

His hair is messy, and his nose is crooked, and there are cuts across his knuckles and this hunted, guilty look in his eyes.

You remember that same touch of guilt in his face the day your mother died, but when you try to remember what happened that day all you can see is your mother dying, and the guards taking Corvo away.

You watch this new, feral Corvo, and your head starts to hurt.

* * *

At the Hound pits, they give you a nice room and a babysitter named Callista (they say she's supposed to be your 'tutor', but you aren't stupid. You know a babysitter when you see one).

She is a _nice_ babysitter, though, with kind eyes and strong, hardworking hands.

She clucks her tongue at your dirty clothing and draws you a bath, but when you undress her breath catches at your bruises.

You can see in her eyes that she wants to talk (the way adults do when something serious happens that they don't think you'll understand- a capital-T-Talk).

You don't figure there's much to talk about, though, so you meet her eyes and shrug, and then thoroughly enjoy the first hot bath you've had in  _ages._

* * *

Corvo comes for a visit in the night of the second day, just after Callista's put you to bed.

You pretend to be asleep and listen as he speaks quietly with Callista, and you hear her murmur about the bruises. Corvo's soft voice (sharper and rougher than you remember) gets so  _angry-_

You try not to flinch away from the force in his words, focus on keeping your breathing slow and steady.

The room goes silent, for a moment, and then Corvo sighs, says, “Tell her I say hello.” There's a note of something funny in his voice.

Callista says a something else, too soft for you to hear, and then you can _feel_ Corvo standing over your bed, looking at you.

(you feel, for a moment, like a mouse caught in the gaze of one of your mother's hunting hawks, but you shake it off. Men are not birds, and you are not a mouse).

“Sweet dreams, Emily,” he says at last, and slips away.

Something un-knots in your gut, the unwinding tension of avoiding disaster.

* * *

The Hound Pits is, while maybe not quite as comfortable as the room you had in your childhood, an improvement on the Golden Cat (It was only a few months ago, you have to remind yourself, that room in the palace, and you are still a child, but it doesn't much feel like it any more).

But. They don't lock the door to your room, and Callista is kind, and your studies are boring but at least you're doing _something._

You don't think they'd really let you leave, these Loyalists, but they at least _try_ to make your room feel like a home and not a prison.

In fact, the only downside is the Loyalists themselves. Havelock and Pendleton and the rest. For all of their self-proclaimed loyalty to you and your throne, they seem like the kind of men who would hit a little girl for talking back, and they make the Hound Pits seem not so far from the Golden Cat after all, despite the names.

(Fighting like cats and dogs, you think, and watch Corvo step into dock with blood under his fingernails)

* * *

Life at the Hound Pits seems to revolve around Corvo's missions.

He goes out on Samuel's riverboat and the whole place holds its breath, he returns and the Loyalists hum with activity, like one of Piero's inventions.

When he returns from a mission, he always visits you first.

He does not seem like such a monster, then, shoulders hunched, eyes soft. He always brings you gifts, too, treasures he's found in the ruins of the city. Old glass bottles, iridescent feathers, coins from distant lands. Trying to fall back into old habits, maybe, but trinkets don't hold the same wonder for you that they once did. You have seen too much of the world, now, to be enraptured by adventure.

In all these visits, Corvo doesn't seem like the villain they said he was. He seems _different_ from the old Corvo, sure- he speaks less, and he is thinner, and he seems unfinished without your mother at his side, like a man without his shadow (or like a shadow without its caster, maybe).

But he is kind, still, voice rough and gentle both, uncertain yet not unkind, and you are not the same as you used to be, either, so it might be alright after all.

But, still. The things the radio said about him echo in your head, and you aren't sure.

You watch him step onto Samuel's boat with a death's mask and a sword at his hip, and you aren't sure.

* * *

You resolve to watch him then, this new Corvo, and see if he is the man you thought he was, or if those memories are just another piece of your childhood to be left for the rats.

 


	3. Impossible Things

You sneak into Corvo's room one night to see what you can find (you've gotten very good at sneaking, lately).

They don't lock the door to your room, after all, and there's a bridge right to his room, so it should be easy, even.

Only, the second you drop through his his window Corvo is on his feet, jumping out of bed with a blade in his hand.

There is something shining hot-sea blue across the back of his knuckles, and you think you can see his _eyes_ glowing (but that's crazy, it's _crazy_ , hands don't glow, eyes don't glow, it's _crazy-)_.

He shouldn't be able to see you, hiding in the shadows as you are, but his eyes pin you like an ant under a magnifying glass, frying in the sun (it's crazy, he can't see you, you're crazy, your heart's hammering against your ribs, it's crazy-).

Corvo stares for a few seconds, then he startles, visibly.

“Emily?”

The glow goes out of his eyes, his hand. You are sitting in darkness for a moment, then the soft hiss of a gas lamp breaks the silence, and Corvo is padding towards you with a lantern in hand.

He stays a few steps back, uncertainty stamped across his brow.

“Whats wrong?” He says, eventually, and his voice is this scratchy, creaking thing, like branches in a storm.

“I had a nightmare,” you fib (and it's not truly a lie, you _always_ have nightmares, but that is not why you came).

“Oh,” he says, voice soft, and when he reaches out to you you flinch, other people's words ringing in your head ( _bad blood, a monster, killed the empress_ ).

He drops his hand and his eyes, pauses for a moment.

“Okay. Well, you can stay as long as you like. Don't feel bad about waking me up, alright?”

But his voice is shaky and ragged, and so,  _so_ tired, and you  _do_ feel bad.

You don't stay, though. The room is full of shadows, and you can hear voices filtering up from the bar below, and Corvo's glowing eyes are stamped across the inside of your eyelids like some sort of morbid firework.

(Monster's eyes, you think, and despite Corvo's kind words you leave the room feeling rattled).

* * *

Callista is waiting for you when you get back, concern etched into the lines around her eyes.

“Thank God,” she breathes, when you drop through the window, but she doesn't scold you for sneaking off, and the trapped feeling in your chest eases a little.

Callista shakes her head, then, laughing good-naturedly as her worry ebbs.

“Out running across rooftops, I suppose,” she says, and you duck your head sheepishly.

“Ah, Emily. Some days you are _just_ like him.”

(You think of Corvo perched on rooftops, blade drawn, the dead eyes of his mask scanning the city, and a chill goes up your spine)

Callista's words remind you of what that woman had said, back at the Cat; _Your daddy Corvo must've put bad blood in your veins._

You thought your father was supposed to be some far-off noble, but-

_Some days you are just like him._

You begin to formulate a theory.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyway, if I didn't explain it well enough, that bit about eyes glowing was the darkvision power that lets you see through walls in the game.
> 
> This chapter is short, but hey, there'll be another one tomorrow right? Also, you can read the other installments in the series while you wait! As always, please tell me what you thought/if I've made any mistakes, and have a great day!


	4. Threats, veiled and otherwise.

One night, as you pretend to sleep, Corvo drops through the window with a creak and a thud.

Callista clucks her tongue at his entry.

“She talks in her sleep, you know.”

Corvo makes this interogative grunting sound and Callista 'humphs', the way she 'humphs' at your skinned knees and grubby hands.

“Says plenty of things, but your name more often than not.”

Corvo lets out this puff of breath, and you can hear him shift his weight, the old floorboards creaking in protest.

“Some nights it sounds like she's calling out to you to be saved, others nights like she's calling out to be saved from you.”

At that, Corvo starts to pace, his heels clicking fainter and louder in turns. Callista takes a deep breath and says, voice shaking like sails in a windstorm; “You may be some sort of protege genius assassin, Mr. Attano, and I don't doubt you could kill me quick as a blink if you so wanted, but if you hurt one hair on that little girl's head, I'll do everything in my power to see you get the sword.”

Corvo finally speaks up, then, voice strained. “If I ever hurt one hair on that little girl's head, Callista, I'll wield the blade myself.”

There is a long, uneasy silence.

“Well, let's hope it doesn't come to that.” Says Callista, finally, and Corvo laughs with a voice like gravel shores.

“Agreed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is short AND late, so. Sorry. Was out late with friends all Friday. Saturday I have no excuse for.
> 
> Also, I just realized how pretentious all of the chapter titles in this fic are, so while we're apologizing, sorry for that too!
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoyed, we'll be back to regular updates tomorrow. Have a good one, all!


	5. The Wrenhaven

One night, Corvo limps back from a mission bloody and savage-eyed. He steps off the boat with stagger in his step and scrubs crimson from his teeth.

The Loyalists have him running two, three missions in a row, now, and the extra strain has put hollow in his cheeks and a wild hunger in his steps.

You are reminded of wolf hounds, lean hungry things with yellow eyes and crocodile grins, and you find you cannot stay still.

Corvo will come to check on you as soon as he is done with the loyalists, and this feral, wolf-grinned man is not a man you want to face in the dark.

Callista is asleep already, so it is a simple thing to slip out of your window and drop to the ground.

The river is so still this time of night, water glassy and black, rippling with reflected starlight.

It soothes you, to walk along the river bank, air thick with the smell of mud and water, sky dark and quiet.

You could run away, if you wanted, disappear into Dunwall and live on your own, and the thought makes your panic ease a little.

This is not the Golden Cat. This is not a prison (or, if it is, it is not your prison). The idea of it is enough to bolster your will, but even so you prefer the quiet of the river to bloody-toothed, split-knuckled Corvo, so you walk for a little while longer.

* * *

You remain undetected for almost an hour.

In fact, it is only when you are nearly back to your room that someone spots you.

“Who's there?” A rough voice splits the night air, then the stuttering strike of a match.

Your heart starts racing again, but it is not a monster that comes for you out of the darkness.

It is not even Corvo.

It is just Samuel the boatman, candle in one hand, searching the shadows for you.

“It's just me, Samuel.”

He startles at your voice, then smiles, the lines around his eyes deepening. “Emily? Why don't you come outta the muck and have some tea?”

And the night is cold, and your toes are numb with river water, and hot sea sounds very nice, so you say,

“Okay,” and follow him back to his boathouse.

* * *

Samuel's little room is cramped and tidy, smelling of tarred rope and cigar smoke. He puts a kettle on to boil, pulls a chair out for you.

“Sorry 'bout the mess. Probl'y a far cry from your palace, eh?”

You shrug, dropping into the chair and tucking your arms around your body.

Samuel just laughs, lights a cigar, and sits in silence with you until the kettle starts to whistle.

“Milk or sugar?” He asks, and you shake your head. Your mother always taught you that tea was to be taken strong and black.

“That's the proper way to do it,” Samuel says, spooning sugar into his own mug. “Never could stand black tea myself, though.”

He carries the steaming mugs out to the docks, and you sit beside him, feet dangling out over the water.

“So,” Samuel says, handing over your mug, “I may not know much, but I suspect you're out past your bedtime.”

You shrug, sip at your tea.

Samuel laughs. “What brings you out to the river, then?”

You look out across the flat water to where the horizon is swallowed up by the fog.

“Just going for a walk.”

Samuel takes a long drink of his tea. “Hmm.” He says.

You sit in silence for a long while, after that, listening to the water lapping against the dock.

You like Samuel. So many adults feel the need to fill silence with useless words ( _My, look how big you've gotten. You're going to look just like your mother. They grow up so fast, don't they?_ ). But Samuel knows how to sit quietly, and it's peaceful. Relaxing.

He's a little ragged, sure; messy stubble, broken nose, hands thick with scar and callus, but he is kind, and you have learned the value of that, as late.

* * *

Your tea is nearly cold when the peace is shattered by a slamming noise, and you look up to see Corvo storming out of your room, head whipping back and forth frantically, his hand on his sword.

(You think you see his hand light up, for a moment, think you see his eyes glow, but you chalk it up to exhaustion and late-night caffeine)

“We're down here, Corvo,” Samuel calls, and Corvo's head snaps towards you. He stares a moment, then his shoulders ease.

“I'm just sharin' some tea with our little empress here. You can check in tomorrow.”

Corvo hesitates, nods, and pads off to his room.

Samuel sighs. “He does that every night, you know. After you get to sleep. Checkin' up on you, I'd reckon.”

You sip your tea. “I know.”

Samuel looks at you funny, long and searching. “Yes,” he eventually says. “I suppose you would.”

The comfort has gone out of the evening, suddenly, and you can feel a tension in Samuel that wasn't there a moment ago. An unease.

He clears his throat. “Now, Emily, I know it ain't my place to give advice to an empress, but allow me to say one thing?”

You look at him expectantly, say nothing (and how long has it been since an adult asked you permission for _anything?_ The novelty is refreshing).

“Right. Well.” Samuel clears his throat again. “I know Corvo's cuts an intimidatin' figure at times, but that there is one of the most honest, good men I ever had the pleasure'a meeting.”

You must look surprised, because Samuel barks out a laugh.

“Oh yes. First time I saw your-” He coughs. “That is, first time I saw Corvo, I was near about shakin' in my boots. 'This is the man they say killed the empress' I thought. An' here he was raggedy-lookin, w' a wicked blade, and that mask...”

Samuel shudders. “I haven't gotten used to the mask, truth be told. But the man underneath- he's no murderer. I know for a fact that he takes extra care not to kill anyone on his missions. Not even his targets.”

“Really?” That sounds more like the Corvo you used to know.

Samuel nods. “Really. If that man killed the empress, I'll eat my own boat.”

You giggle, and Samuel smiles back.

Then you yawn, wide, and Samuel says, “I'm getting' tired myself. What say we call it a night, empress?”

You nod, turn for your room, and Samuel calls after you:

“If you would, Emily, this old man has one last bit of advice for ya-”

You turn.

“I'm not gonna tell ya not to wander, 'cause I know better'n most how the river can get in your blood, but-”

Samuel takes a deep breath, looks out over the water.

* * *

“Mind yourself on the river. I sailed it my whole life, so I know it like my own breath, and I can say for certain- The river is Dunwall, and Dunwall is the river, and neither have ever been known for their mercy.”

* * *

You watch Corvo, the next day, the bags under his eyes and the hunch of his shoulders, and wonder if guilt would weigh so heavy on the back of a monster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Emily is a small child made of shrugs and monosyllables, and Samuel is a very good man, and I love them both to pieces.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed. As usual, drop a comment or a kudos if you so desire. It always makes my day. 
> 
> Have a good one!


	6. Hide-and-Sought

The next week is a good week. Corvo sticks around the pub, between missions, and you talk to him a few times (about your studies, or a story you read, and isn't it nice to talk about something unimportant for a change). It's not quite comfortable the way it used to be, but it's a start.

He leaves for a mission early the next week, and you resolve to make an effort when he comes back, to make things the way they used to be.

* * *

Callista is in high spirits the day Corvo gets back, so you don't mind teasing her, a little. You try not to be too difficult when she's in a sour mood, but today-

It is too nice of a day to be trapped inside the pub, and your studies are dull, so you sneak off when Callista turns her back, feeling almost the same little girl who played hide-and-seek so many months ago.

Callista- perhaps indulgent, perhaps exasperated- does not come looking for you right away.

Rather, when Corvo gets back, she asks _him_ to come look for you instead.

Their voices filter up through the floorboards of the pub, Callista sounding frustrated, Corvo tired but laughing all the same.

You hear him begin his search, then, floorboards creaking, doors swinging open and shut, but as he grows closer your playful mood drains away.

You feel like you are back at the Cat, can almost smell that sour-sweet air, and when Corvo creeps up the stairs and calls out your name, it is as if you are back there, back after all this time.

Your heart is racing, your hands sweaty, and that itch to escape, that desperation, is crawling under your skin even though you know- you  _know_ \- that there is nothing to escape from.

Corvo's boots come into your field of view, and all of that old fear rushes back, like he is your captor, like will snatch you up and drag you away and give you a slap for your insolence.

You know it is just Corvo, but still, that fear remains, and you want to puke, and you want to cry, but you just stay curled under his desk, the fun of the afternoon evaporated like sea spray in the summer heat.

When Corvo finds you, he is smiling warmly, and you are shaking, curled away from him, silent tears in your eyes.

Once he catches sight of your face, Corvo's smile falters, and he crouches to face-level, concern in his shadowed eyes.

“Emily? Are you okay?”

You can't manage to answer him, somehow.

“Were you hiding from someone? Did something happen?” He sounds afraid, now, and a little angry, and you shake your head and shrink away and try not to cry.

(You've cried in front of Corvo plenty of times, you know, and for less reason- for a skinned knee, a dropped ice cream cone, but for some reason, today you look at Corvo and something deep in your chest screams  _hide,_ and so you cower, and you shake, and you choke back tears).

“Were-” Corvo's voice gets thick. “Is it _me,_ Emily? Were you hiding from _me_?”

You don't know. You weren't at first, but now you are not sure. You are not hiding from  _this_ Corvo, certainly, this kind man, and not even from the monstrous Corvo they talk about on the radio, but something in your memories sees 'hide-and-seek' and thinks 'being hunted'.

So you shrug, and then it is too much, and your face crumples with misery, and you  _cry._

“Emily?” Corvo asks, and you _cry_. “Can I-” He reaches a hand towards you and you flinch away and you're not sure why, and you _cry_.

Corvo sighs a shuddery sigh and says, voice sort of shaky, “I'm going to go get some water. Do you want any?”

You cannot answer, throat hot and thick with tears, head aching, and he sighs and turns and walks away.

 

* * *

Corvo is gone a long time.

You can hear him talking with Callista floors below, their voices low and concerned, the way your mother's voice sounded talking to the doctor when you were six, and a fever had you in bed for a month.

In fact, Callista and Corvo  _talk_ so long that your fear eases, a bit, and the Golden Cat fades a little further away, and when Corvo pads up the stairs with two glasses of water you are sitting on his bed, sobs eased to the occasional hiccup.

He sits next to you on the bed, uncertain, and hands you your water.

You drink and breathe, and the uncomfortable silence in the room stretches on for a long while, like the the dust catching in the attic sunlight.

“Emily,” Corvo says at last, voice soft. “You know I would never hurt you, right?”

For some reason, you start crying again, and Corvo moves to get up, misery in his face, but you curl yourself into his side, instead, and cry into his shirt.

(he smells like river water and silt, and it is  _almost_ like everything is alright again.)

Corvo hesitates, puts an arm over your shoulder, lets you sit there until his shirt is soaked through and your eyes are dry again.

“Are you okay?” he asks, after a long while, and you nod because yes, for now, you are.

“Do you want to talk about it?” His voice is stilted, uncomfortable. You shake your head.

“The Golden Cat, then?” he says, and you nod, only a little, hoping he won't notice.

He does, though, sighs hard enough that you feel it through his ribs.

You eventually fall asleep there, leaning against Corvo's side, body worn from tears and terror.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo...  
> this chapter is mostly the reason for all the tags about PTSD and shit. Did a bunch of research into child PTSD and trauma, but if I got anything wrong/said anything you think is iffy/didn't put a tag I should have, let me know.
> 
> (this chapter was also supposed to be about twice as long, but I have a killer headache today, so I'll put the other half up tomorrow. Said headache also means I may have missed some errors I'd have otherwise caught, so let me know if you see those).
> 
> That said, hope you enjoyed, kudos/comment if you like, see you again tomorrow!


	7. Overheard

You wake up with a spike of fear, unsure for a moment where you are.

Then you remember, and relax, taking a moment to survey the room.

It's early evening, now, and there's no sign of Corvo, and your eyes are sore and sandy, but nothing seems out of place.

Breathing easy, you wander out onto the bridge that connects your room to Corvo's and catch Corvo's voice spitting out the words,

“-Golden Cat” with a venom you've never heard from him before.

You peer down into the night to see Corvo pacing, hands in fists by his sides, as Samuel watches and smokes.

“I don't know what those bastards did to Emily, but you should have _seen_ her, Samuel-”

Corvo breaks off, paces.

“I practically _raised_ her, and I've never seen her even _close_ to that afraid. I'm telling you, something happened to her in there, and I-”

He snorts.

“I didn't do anything _about_ it.”

Samuel taps ash from his cigar. “You were in prison, Corvo. What could'y've done that you didn't?”

Corvo scowls.

"If I could go back in time, Samuel, I would kill every last one of those bastards, I'd raze the whole damn place to the ground, I would _personally_ put a bullet between the eyes of everyone who hurt her, I'd-”

Samuel tsks. “That's not true and you know it, Corvo.”

Corvo sighs, after a moment. “You're right. As usual.”

Samuel just laughs, takes a long drag on his cigar.

Corvo stops pacing, a moment. “What is _wrong_ with me? All those terrible people- the world would probbaly be better off without them, but I can't-”

Corvo sighs. “Even those bastards that took Emily, I can't kill them.”

There's a long pause, filled only by cicadas and lapping water.

“What's wrong with you?” Samuel asks, eventually, and Corvo nods.

“What's wrong with you is that you're a good man in a city that isn't kind to good men.”

Corvo laughs. “Thanks, Samuel. But I swear, if they come after Emily again-”

Samuel nods. I know, Corvo. People'll do strange things when their children are on the line.”

There's a long, tense silence.

“How-” Corvo eventually says, letting the sentence hang in the air, unfinished.

Samuel laughs. “Oh, come on, Corvo. You may be Dunwall's most feared assassin, but they make you wear that mask for a reason. You've got a damn bad poker face.”

He stubs out his cigar.

“Mind, I've no idea if you're blood or not, but I've seen the way you look at that girl.” He eyes Corvo. “Any fool could see you think of her as your child.”

After a moment, Corvo laughs, but it's not a happy sound.

“Yeah, well, I've known her since she was just-” He gestures like he's cradling a baby. “Made a promise I'd never tell who her father was, though. To the dismay of gossips and tabloid papers alike.”

Samuel makes a considering 'hmmm' noise, then stands purposefully.

“Got a nice bottle'a Tyvian Brandy I've been savin' for a special occasion. Let me pour you a glass.”

Corvo chuckles. “ _That_ , I can get behind.” He follows Samuel back to his boat house, their voices fading out of earshot.

You slip into your room with your head spinning.

_Your daddy Corvo must've put bad blood in your veins._

_Some days you are just like him._

_People'll do strange things for their children._

You gnaw on your lip, thinking. Sleep takes a long time to come, that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gah, so sorry I didn't get a chapter up yesterday. Been kind of ill lately, and I just went to bed as soon as I got home from school.
> 
> Anyway, this chapter's not got much Emily in it, but I absolutely love Corvo and Samuel's friendship, and the almost mentoring attitude Samuel gets towards Corvo, so. Here's that.


	8. Drawings (one)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will upload the next chapter in like, ten minutes, this is just short because I liked how the formatting worked, not because it's actually all I'm putting up today.

One day, Corvo runs across you drawing, jokingly asks you if you'll make _him_ a picture, too.

You think, he's given you enough presents, it's only fair that you return the favour.

* * *

When you sit down to draw him, you don't see the mask- you see him as he used to be, neat hair and that big fancy coat, and you draw that.

You sneak over to his room while he's on a mission, but for some reason you can't leave the drawing.

It feels unfinished. You stare at your picture for a long, _long_ time, then take it back to your room.

It's not ready, yet. You're not sure why, but it's not.

 

 


	9. What's Wrong?

“Emily,” Callista says one night, “A few days ago, when you were playing hide-and seek, did Corvo... _do_ anything to you?”

You look at her, brow furrowed. “Like what?”

“Like... anything to hurt you?” Her voice has gone all soft and concerned, like your mother sounded when she had to tell you your cat had died.

You shake your head. No, he hadn't done anything to hurt you.

Callista relaxes, smiles. “Good. I didn't think so.”

When you are silent for a while, Callista starts to shift uneasily. (You like her, but she is the kind of adult who is uncomfortable with long silences).

“I only- I heard you crying, and you were up there a long time, so I was worried.”

You blink at her. “I fell asleep.”

“But before that-”

You shrug, stare down at the floorboards.

“Emily, look at me.” She's using her teacher voice. You _hate_ her teacher voice.

“ _Emily._ ”

You look at her.

“Why were you crying?”

Shrug.

“Was it Corvo?”

Shrug.

“Emily, if you're afraid of him-” Callista sighs. “I just don't think there's much to be worried about. He's nothing but polite to me and the other staff- he even saved my uncle's life, and only 'cause I asked him to.”

She pats you on the shoulder. “I understand that you're afraid sometimes- I am too. I just don't think _Corvo_ should be one of the reasons you're afraid, okay?”

You start crying. You _know_ he's not going to hurt you, you _do,_ but still, when he was looking for you, you were _afraid._

You don't like thinking about it.

“Emily?” Callista tries again. “What's wrong?”

Shrug.

“When you first got here, you had... bruises. Did it have anything to do with that?”

You look up at her. Scrub at your nose.

“I dunno,” You say, and you don't, because thinking about the Cat makes your throat ache and your ribs tight, and so you try not to think about it at all, except sometimes things remind you of it even if they don't seem like they should, and you get afraid for no reason at all.

Callista _sighs._ “Okay, Emily. If you ever feel like talking about it-”

You won't.

“We'll I'm here. And I'm sure Corvo would be happy to talk as well.”

You nod, because adults sometimes stop talking when you agree with them, and Callista does.

She gets you a glass of water and takes out her book, and doesn't say a word when you slip out the window to watch the river.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly can't believe I haven't had anyone fucking ask Emily what's wrong yet? These are the least responsible adults of all time?


	10. Drawings (two)

You keep the treasures Corvo brings you in a place of honor on your bedside table, and one time Corvo comes in to check on you he notices, and he smiles so big that the scary lines in his face melt away, and he looks just like he used to.

It makes your chest ache, like homesickness, but also a little like getting over a chest cold. Itches, some, but itches like healing.

-

On a rare day that He is in from a mission and you are off from your lessons, Corvo teaches you to sail.

He takes Samuel's boat out on the river and lets you hold the rudder, tells you where to go and how fast but never takes the controls from your hands.

You drop anchor in the middle of the river, out past the smog, and have a picnic in the sunlight.

Summer is fading into autumn, now, but the days are still warm and bright, and the sky today is this perfect, cloudless, crayon blue.

The Wrenhaven's waters are black even during the daytime, and when it's as still as it is today the river is like a mirror, throwing the sun and the blue, blue sky back up at you, so your boat seems to be floating.

It is almost like the strange dreams you've been having lately, dreams of formless blue space and distant whispers, but you don't think about that now.

Rather, you stare out at the blue-blue water, draw your best imitation of the river in a notebook Callista had given you, your crayons gone soft in the sun. Corvo sits back to watch you, humming something under his breath.

Relaxed like this, in the sun, he doesn't seem so pale, and the angry, scary angles of his face aren't so harsh, and you can almost imagine you are just out from the palace on a day trip, that you will return to your mother and your bedroom and everything will be alright.

But Corvo leans over you to see what you're drawing and you flinch at his shadow, and the moment shatters.

Corvo either doesn't notice or doesn't mention your reaction, but he backs quickly out of your personal space.

“Where's my drawing?” He jokes, and you pull a face at him, and he laughs.

* * *

You stay out on the river all day, until the summer warmth goes out of the air, the river washed gray and chill by dusk.

Corvo sees you shivering in your thin clothes, smiles, and coaches you in hoisting anchor and turning the boat around.

On the way back to the Hound Pits, Corvo says, voice heavy and slow, “Emily, I don't want you to worry, but I think you should know something.”

You look at him expectantly.

“In the morning tomorrow, I'm going on an important mission- the last one, as a matter of fact."  
He sighs, eyes the darkening horizon.

“It's also going to be pretty dangerous, so.”

He clears his throat.

“Well, like I said, I don't want you to worry."

But his voice is thick and hard and carries on it a promise of bitter things as surely as the autumn wind, and you shiver, and you worry.

* * *

That night, you know how to finish the drawing.

You think of Corvo teaching you hide-and-seek, Corvo giving you piggyback rides, Corvo's boat lessons that day-

You think about his conversation with Samuel.

_Any fool could see you think of her as your daughter._

You creep into Corvo's room and, laying the drawing out on his desk, you write, D A D across the top of the paper. The crayon wax goes crumbley with how hard you press down, but you think that's ok.

You leave it on his bedside table, for him to find in the morning, and slip back to your room feeling like unfinished business, finished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Closin' in on the end here, folks. Here's some Kwality father-daughter bonding, courtesy of Crayola.
> 
> Also, got a comment on a past chapter about how Emily should get a visit from The Outsider, and I didn't go QUITE that far, but thought it would be cool to slip in some void-ey dreams. A little foreshadowing to her future visit.
> 
> As always, holler if you see an error, kudos/comment if you like, and have a good one! See you all tomorrow.


	11. Farewells, of a sort.

Corvo creeps into your room somewhere around two in the morning.

“Come for a walk with me?” He says, and you think his voice is shaking.

Nonetheless, you follow him out to the river, and you think Corvo must not really want to go for a walk, because he just sits down on the riverbank, staring out into the night.

“At the Cat...” Corvo starts, and there's this funny note to his voice you haven't heard before.

“At the Cat,” he says again, “You tried to escape...three times?”

You nod, and he makes this approving sound in the back of his throat. (A sound that used to be reserved for aced tests and good manners, but.)

“Don't ch-” Corvo clears his throat. “Don't stop. Trying to escape. If something happens.”

You tilt your head sideways, look at him till he winces.

“And, if you need it-”

Corvo slides you a box, fine and black, silver letters stamped into the lid.

Inside the box is-

“Only for emergencies.” Corvo says. “ _Never_ use it if you don't have to.”

It's a sword. A dagger, really, to a man like Corvo, but in your hands-

The edge is wicked and the handle fits your fingers like you were born for it, and the mirror-polished blade bleeds reflected moonlight.

It is beautiful. And deadly. And very much not a present for little girls.

You tuck it inside your coat, considering.

You think maybe Corvo found your drawing, then. A gift for a gift.

“Promise me?” Corvo says suddenly, and you jump- his voice is still rougher, fiercer, then you remember, after all this time.

You look at him levelly.

“Promise me you won't even stop trying to escape. When you need to.”

You nod slowly, not sure quite what he's asking.

Corvo just sighs. “Sorry, Emily, I must not be making much sense, I only-”

He _sighs_ again. He's been sighing a lot, lately. “I have a bad feeling about this one.”

You nod. “I promise.”

There's silence, again, for a while, then-

“Emily?” Corvo has turned towards you, arms half-open, uncertainly, like the cormorants that dry their wings on the docks.

“Can I-”

It's the asking permission that does it. You lean in and hug him, and he _sighs_ again, a shuddery, melancholy sigh. He folds his arms around you and you sit like that, for a while, tucked into his chest, warmed against the cool river night, and feel safer then you have in a while.

 

* * *

Corvo leaves for his mission later that morning, and you do not see him for a week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, the final mission in Dishonored? I'm sure it will go well and Emily will be restored to the throne without a hitch and no one will betray anyone at all.


	12. Bed Rest

When Corvo gets back, the breaking of tension is so palpable it almost _hurts._

The boat limps into dock in the early morning, and Samuel half-carries Corvo onto shore, grunting and huffing under the strain.

Corvo's arm is looped around Samuel's shoulder, and the way Samuel's leaning to one side, you can tell he carrying most of Corvo's weight.

Corvo looks-

He looks _not good_. There are bruisey purple shadows smeared under his eyes like war paint, and there's blood staining through the knee of his trousers- a _lot_ of blood.

Your mouth goes dust-dry, but when Corvo sees you he smiles and limps forwards a few steps, takes his arms off of Samuel's shoulders to swing you into the air, grinning.

“We did it.” He tells you, and when he puts you down his leg is shaking, but he sweeps into a joking bow and says, “Your Majesty.”

His tone is light, and his eyes are smiling, but the title makes your teeth hurt.

Then Corvo straightens and staggers, and Samuel catches his arm again.

“Woah, easy there Corvo.” Samuel shoots you a smile. “Just got unlucky with a bullet on the way back. He'll be fine after some bedrest”

You nod, watch Corvo limp into the pub.

The sounds of drinking and revelry don't last as long as you think they should, and Corvo doesn't check in on you like he usually does, but you think he's probably just injured and tired.

_Bed rest,_ Samuel said.

_Bed rest,_ you tell yourself, and drift into an uneasy sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always figured it was weird how Corvo never came back from his missions more roughed up, so. Roughed up Corvo.
> 
> Next chapter: Corvo wakes up from his bed rest in the pub and him and Emily go on a lovely picnic and pick flowers. I mean, probably, right?


	13. Upriver

The next morning-

Corvo is gone. Dead. Floated up the river in the night, and the Loyalists are packing up to leave the Hound Pits, saying how Corvo's injuries were more severe then they thought, how he bled out in the night. They assure you that he passed quietly, without pain, but Samuel is gone and Callista is tooth-grindingly quiet, and you're pretty sure-

No, you _know_ that Corvo's wounds weren't serious enough to kill him. Whatever got him floated upriver, it wasn't the hole in his leg.

You've been through this before, you remind yourself, at the Cat, and for all that the thought makes your lungs close up like you're breathing sub-arctic, it keeps your head clear.

People have been feeding you lies about Corvo for months, and you will not hear them any longer.

You tuck your hand under your coat, grip the hilt of Corvo's gifted sword till your knuckles go numb, try not to breathe in that Golden Cat perfume-stink that's been clinging to your fear for months.

_Never stop trying to escape._

You look at the Loyalists milling around the Hound Pits, think of your boar-eyed captors at the Cat.

_Forget Cats and Dogs,_ you think. You know a snake when you see one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops  
> (Hope you liked it, see ya'll tomorrow!)


	14. Salt Water & Stale Perfume

For _days,_ all you can think is _it's happening again,_ and the thought makes your mind hazy and panicked, like so much static, like the funny, numb _itch_ of the overseer's music boxes.

_It's happening again,_ and like the last time, your predicament takes a while to fully sink in.

And, like last time, you panic when it finally does.

Not the strange, numb panic of shock, of memories that smell like so much stale perfume-

No, the panic that floods you when you realize what is happening is cold. Like lungs filling with saltwater, like head slipping under the waves, it makes your throat burn and your chest tight, it makes your veins thrum with airless desperation, even when you take a deep breath.

That's what your mother always told you to do, when you were scared, but you breathe deep and you count to ten and you are still here.

Still here, again, with a parent dead, again _,_ with no hope for escape but a gifted sword and some half-forgotten games of hide and seek.

(Can you feel it? The salt on your tongue? The water where breath should be? The _inevitability_ of it makes your chest ache).

Maybe it shows on your face, this feeling like drowning, because Havelock looks at you funny and asks what's wrong.

You find you can't do anything but stare, and he squirms and frowns and slaps you across the face, tells you s _taring is rude_.

And you-

You _laugh._ You don't mean to, but you laugh.

A wet, half-sob of a laugh, because, here you are again, and because you were right about Havelock, after all, and because it's the only thing to do but cry, and you really don't want to cry.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short chapter. Sorry!  
> Thanks for all the comments & kudos- you guys are the best! Have a good one!


	15. Never stop trying to escape.

You stay numb and wild-eyed until they pack you onto a boat to the lighthouse, and the moment the engine starts you hear, clear as bells,

_Never stop trying to escape,_

and your fear drains away for the two seconds it takes to jump overboard and swim for shore.

You actually make it pretty far before they manage to pull the boat around and catch you- none of them are as good at the wheel as Samuel was.

But they have a motor boat and you are swimming in wool clothes and shoes, and so they pull alongside you quick enough. That old Overseer hauls you back into the boat and cracks you across the jaw so hard you taste blood, and the world goes sideways.

* * *

You wake up in a bedroom in a lighthouse, head aching. You _do_ cry, then, because it would take a stronger person than you not to.

The panic starts to creep in around the seams again, like water into a leaky boat. You feel like _sinking_.

* * *

Escape attempt #2: You rush the door when they bring you dinner. You are halfway down the stairs before they catch you, drag you kicking and biting back to your room. They install a cat door to push your meals through.

* * *

Escape attempt #4: You wear your nails bloody on the air duct's screws for a whole week before you give up.

It is bolted to tightly to undo. Your fingers ache.

* * *

Escape attempt #7: You catch Pendleton in the leg with your sword and he _yells_ and you _run._

You don't even make it down to the next floor.

They take the sword. It makes your head itch, and your toes go cold like deep ocean.

* * *

Escape attempt #13: You try to climb out the window, but one look at the waves so far below and you climb back inside.

You find out later that one of the guards saw you as you clambered out, and they bolt your window shut even though you didn't go anywhere.

You look at the bars on the window and smell perfume, for a moment, hear the creaking of the Golden Cat's rafters.

* * *

You lose count somewhere around escape attempt #21 (you'd said you had to go the bathroom, stepped on Pendleton's foot as hard as possible andbooked it).

But you keep trying, and the stress of it starts wearing on the loyalists.

 _Loyalists,_ you think, and kind of want to laugh, because they aren't even loyal to _each other_ anymore, tearing at one another like the dogs that fought for scraps in the bowels of the Hound Pitts.

 

* * *

The overseer- Martin- just stops showing up, one day, and the tension eases for a while, and you think of Corvo, left to die when he became more trouble than he was worth.

 

* * *

A storm starts raging, one night, and the sound of all that rain against your windows makes you itch to get outside.

You overhear Pendleton cursing that boats can't get to the island in this weather, and his voice slurs less then it has for weeks.

Him and Havelock start fighting again soon after. You can hear them screaming over the thunder, when you listen for it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, folks. Probably only two chapters to go after this.  
> (Also, if you ever feel like crying, give the Dishonored Wiki's page on The Heart a read. Poor Jessamine. Also, if you REALLY want to cry, listen to what the heart has to say about Emily. http://dishonored.wikia.com/wiki/The_Heart/Quotes )


	16. Pathetic Fallacy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE- I used the high chaos ending because it makes more sense to the story, and I think it's... better? I'm a low-chaos sort of person, but the low chaos ending has always sort of been dissatisfying and anti-climactic to me. But this Corvo IS low-chaos.

You think maybe your latest escape attempt pushed Havelock too far.

(He's the only one left, out of all of them, Pendelton and Martin floated down the river like Corvo was. You don't miss them like you miss him).

You'd spend the better part of two weeks working a loose screw out of the door hinge, and another week working the hinge loose enough to let the door fall open a crack.

When you'd finally slipped the door open wide enough to slip out, you hadn't known where to go.

So you'd crept into a side room and chanced upon your sword, and then Havelock had found you, and you'd made a dash to get by, but he grabbed for you, and you'd slashed blindly, and he'd _screamed-_

You'd run, then, as fast as you could, blood on your shirt and heart in your throat, run towards-

nothing.

Towards a walkway hanging over angry gray ocean and not much else.

Havelock had followed you out, teeth bared in this horrible, skeleton's grin, two fingers missing from his right hand, screaming incoherent curses over the howling wind.

He grabs you all the same, and the blood seeps into you clothes, and he's yelling so loud there's spit foaming at the corners of his mouth, and-

and you swing as him feebly with your free arm, carve a shallow gash in his forearm, not enough to really hurt him, but he hisses and spits like a mad dog, and you struggle for a moment but he is bigger and stronger and fueled by so much _hate,_ and you yell

“Let me _go,_ ” with a voice that sounds so _small_ to your ears, swallowed up by the storm.

Havelock laughs, tightens his grip on your arm, turns, and makes this _choking_ sound, like he's drowning, like a punch to the gut.

Corvo is standing in the doorway to the lighthouse, still and sinister even without the mask. His nose is broken and bloody, his eyes flat-black in the rain.

You shiver, a little, even though you are glad to see him, and lightning flashes, and he steps towards you like the grim reaper, and-

“NOT ONE MORE STEP CORVO, OR I JUMP.”

Havelock's pulled you tight against his chest and he backs his heels off the edge of the walkway, and you feel the wind _tear_ at you, and you are too scared even to cry.

Havelock grins, teeth too white, mouth too wide. “You thought you could be the big damn hero, huh Corvo? Save the city by sparing a few guards? Well not this time. This time, it's just gonna be a mess you couldn't clean up.”

Corvo goes so _still_ you'd think time had stopped, and then-

and then you are not sure _what_ happens, except that Havelock is falling, and _you_ are falling, and there is a flash of blue and a whiff of sea salt, and-

Corvo catches you. Grabs you by the hand and pulls you close. He's shaking- or you are, maybe, and there's so much rain you can'r tell if he's crying or not, but you know you are.

Corvo wraps you in his arms, smelling of blood and whale oil, and you say,

“I didn't stop trying to escape.”

And he says, “That's my girl.” in a voice that sounds a lot like choking, and he presses his lips to your hair and hugs you close, there, in the rain and the storm.

Corvo says a lot of things, like _I love you_ and _It'll be okay,_ and you nod and cry, and even though he's limping he carries you all the way out of the lighthouse, muttering comforts into your hair.

You're not sure who they're for.

Later, in the boat, with the lighthouse shrinking behind you, Corvo tells Samuel what happened.

“And then they were falling, so I reached out, and-”

“He caught me,” You cut in, tucked against Corvo's side.

Corvo hums, squeezes your shoulder. “I caught you.”

He always does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as I said above, low-chaos Corvo, but I used the high chaos ending bc I think it's better. Epilogue tomorrow, and then we're done!
> 
> Sorry for no update yesterday- I left my notebook where the fic's written down at school.


	17. Epilogue

The first years of your rule, it is as if all of Dunwall stops to take a breath.

Gang violence dwindles, dog fights taper off, even the lootings stop, like everyone needs a _break._ Need some time to _breathe._ You do. You are ten years old, bruised and bloodied, with scars in more ways than one.

The old Hound Pits crew all move into the palace with you. It's hard to break old habits, maybe, or to be with people who don't know what you know.

It is too much of a burden, maybe, to watch the world change and then spend time with people who only changed with it.

They all stay with you, those first quiet years, helping to tear the barbed wire from the walls of your home.

All but Samuel, who stays for a little while, but you can see him itching, and you give him his old line about the river getting into your blood.

He says, “Promise me you'll write if you need,” and shoots you a grateful look when you say you will, slips away to his boat that very night.

You keep a room for him at the palace, and he drops by from time to time, but he always smells of the river, and there's always tar under his finger nails, and you accept that there are some parts of your family you won't see too often.

But Corvo-

Corvo stays by your side like a shadow, restored to something like the man you knew, all aftershave and polished boots and sharp, kind eyes.

He gets stiff, when it rains, in the places where they tortured him. He hides it well, standing tall beside your throne with his hands tucked neat behind his back, but you notice anyway.

He thinks you don't notice, but you do. You've seen too much to pretend not to know about torture.

You think maybe Corvo's seen too much to do anything _but_ pretend, that maybe he needs to pretend there's still some innocence in the world.

So you don't say anything about his stiff, crooked fingers, and he doesn't say anything about the coat you have commissioned, long and fine and shadow-hued.

And he either doesn't notice or doesn't mention your trips out at night, learning the city from rooftops and sewers. And when you mistime a jump and limp back home with a broken wrist at three am, he just looks at you until you squirm, and then he calls for the doctor and says nothing more.

And you do not mention the mark across the back of his hand, the mark that sometimes glows like summer sea, you don't mention the way he can see through walls, how he can get places no one else could, no matter how good a climber they were (you know. You're _tried)._

But for all the words that go unsaid, there are two that do. You call him 'Corvo' on some days and 'Father' on others, and he mummers affections in his low, scratchy voice, and you know that no matter what, he'll always catch you if you fall.

And you'll catch him.

Because he is your father, and a good man, and you are his daughter, and you are _trying,_ and that is what family is for

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's that!  
> Thanks for coming along for the ride, folks! Hope you liked it. If you did, or even if you didn't let me know what you thought.  
> Thanks again for lending me your time. Hope you all have a good one.

**Author's Note:**

> I have this all written out longhand- it just needs to be typed. So while it WILL be a multi-chaptered monstrosity (unlike the other fics in this series), a new chapter SHOULD be out every day. So there's that.
> 
> Anyway, obligatory apology for second person, tell me what you thought, and have a nice day!
> 
> (ConCrit welcome. In fact, please tell me if you catch a mistake I've made)


End file.
